


Call My Name

by EarthsickWithoutYou



Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Lonely Macy, Plot What Plot, Romance, Shameless Smut, Touch-Starved Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21861226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthsickWithoutYou/pseuds/EarthsickWithoutYou
Summary: It is Harry's natural instinct and solemn duty as a whitelighter to immediately appear at the side of a Charmed one, should she call him in a state of need.  However, there are certain eventualities he never counted on, and one of them is Macy losing herself in a heated moment of self-pleasuring and accidentally shouting out his name.  Takes place post-2x08.
Relationships: Harry Greenwood/Macy Vaughn
Comments: 21
Kudos: 135





	Call My Name

It happened just as it always seemed to, right at the moment of triumph when Macy thought she had finally managed to shove all thoughts of Harry out of her mind. She’d poured herself a glass of red wine, slipped freshly showered into her sexiest black lace nightie, and then climbed into bed, determined to show herself a little self love which she richly deserved.

However, this time she absolutely _wasn’t_ going to fantasize about Harry Greenwood to help herself get off. She wasn’t even going to allow thoughts of James, a recent habit which had never been anything but a convenient excuse to let herself imagine Harry’s body or the way he would touch her. 

Well, Harry didn’t want to touch Macy, at least not anymore. Whatever he once felt for her seemed to have been forgotten now that he’d gotten his mouth and his hands all over Abby, but she blocked out that repulsive memory, too. Talk about a mood killer. She didn’t need that fickle, smooth-talking, irritatingly handsome, annoyingly clever whitelighter ruining another moment of her life. Not so long ago, she would have also called him kind, but how could he be? He was cruel enough to discard his yearning for her and move on to someone else as if their bond meant nothing. So no, he wasn’t kind at all, and if she thought about that disillusioning fact much longer, she’d cry.

So instead, she would think about the love she had for her own body, which she had cultivated over years of opting to wait for sex until she felt truly ready. To this day, no one had ever shown her the care and attentiveness she showed herself, or been patient enough to let her try and unfurl the passionate care she wanted to give to a lover.

Whatever. She loved herself. Macy reread a few specific scenes from her favorite _Heaven’s Vice_ fanfiction and savored her wine, letting her body grow relaxed and aroused. She could think about Gideon, that’s what she would do. She could use a touch from a very naughty angel right about now.

Laying back on her pillow, she set her phone aside and began slowly touching herself, rubbing her palms over her breasts in a slow massage before sliding her hands into her nightgown to tease her nipples. 

Macy moaned softly and reached down for her panties, parting her thighs and slipping her fingers beneath the silky fabric to find herself slick and ready, a low-level pulsing ignited from reading the sexy story and envisioning those same dirty, shameless acts being taken out on her.

Just as she slid a finger inside her velvety, wet entrance, following the steps she knew would eventually bring her to climax, Macy found the idea of Gideon was snatched from her haplessly lustful mind, replaced by Harry so easily that it was frankly insulting. Oh, fine, why fight it? If her mind wanted to be just as stupid as her heart, she might as well play along, especially when it felt this amazing to slide a second finger into the soaking grip of her pussy and imagine it was Harry’s hand touching her.

She moaned louder and licked her lips, trying to conjure up a realistic sense of what his mouth would taste like, the heat and pressure of him, and before she knew it, she was thrusting hard and fast with three fingers, the pleasure building within her so insistently that it felt like she was on the verge of one of those rare orgasms which were so fiercely intense, she could hardly bear it, especially when she had to ride out the euphoria all alone, with no one to hold her afterwards. That always felt so desolate and cold.

But there was no turning back now; her body was making its own decisions, her imagination wildly filling with thoughts of Harry slamming his cock into her, choosing her, wanting only Macy, crying out her name as he kissed her and fucked her, and another wave of pleasure hit her so hard that without even thinking she called his name.

“_Harry_!”

“Macy? You called?” Within an instant, her whitelighter stood in her bedroom in just his pajama pants, his eyes blearily confused, but then he looked completely gobsmacked. “Oh, Good God!”

Harry turned away in dutiful mortification as Macy moved her hand away from its intimate positioning despite her body’s screams of protest. The excitement of her hammering heartbeat switched to complete panic. In her wild enthusiasm, she’d kicked away the sheets, and there had been nothing to hide what she was doing when Harry orbed into the room. Her nightgown hung loosely around her waist, exposing her breasts and barely covering her lower body. 

“Harry, what are you _doing_ here?” she demanded, trying so hard to be angry when all she really felt was total humiliation.

“I--Macy, I’m so sorry, I don’t understand,” he sighed, staring at the wall, _trying_ to form a rational analysis of the mishap even though his mind’s eye was emblazoned with images of what he had just seen: Macy, nearly naked and entirely radiant, pleasuring herself the way he’d yearned to pleasure her with a burning passion since the very first day they met. 

She sat up straighter, pulled her nightie straps back up and then covered herself up to her shoulders in the sheets, as if this belated facade of purity could make either of them forget what had happened.

“You can turn around, Harry, I’m decent,” she beckoned. 

He turned, slowly opening his squeezed-shut eyes one at a time, his cheeks flaming as she inevitably noticed his own state of undress with lifted brows and curiously parted lips. He wore a pair of pine green plaid pajama pants, with cute, sleep-mussed hair and bare feet completing the look until it would have just been endearing...were it not for his trim but firmly muscled upper body and the distinct outline of an erection pressing against his only garment.

“But _I’m_ not -- decent, that is —please do forgive me, Macy,” he groaned, crossing his arms and trying to think away his hardness, the hot, needy energy coursing through his veins until making love to her was his only remaining impulse. His body didn’t care one whit about common sense, much to his sheepish dismay.

He hardly knew how to explain himself; friends didn’t become aroused if they happened to walk in on another friend in a state of undress or even a moment of solitary intimacy; a friend would simply apologize, quite possibly laugh it off, and leave. Leave quickly, in fact, because it wasn’t a normal scenario. Yet the two of them were locked in a helpless staring contest, as if he wasn’t going anywhere and they both knew it.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” he resumed, brow furrowed in perplexity. “Truly, I’m only supposed to appear when you call my name because you _need_ me. I don’t just pop up if you mention me in passing or happen to mutter the name ‘Harry’ in reference to someone else, I mean for heaven’s sake, it’s a relatively common name, and that would hardly be sensib--”

Macy shifted in bed, trying and failing to ignore the way his sexily disheveled, clearly turned-on and ready to go appearance had her shivering with desire, her aching sex wet and throbbing. 

“Right,” she blurted, the two of them still staring daggers into each others’ souls, “That would be crazy.”

Harry stood stock still for a moment, finally reaching a full understanding of what had actually occurred. He wouldn’t let himself believe it at first, was sure it was just his own insipidly foolish broken heart, lying to him and luring him into yet another display of unrequited affection. Yet there was no other explanation, either for his presence or for the way his beautiful, irresistible Macy was looking at him, as if driven raw and reckless with erotic need for him just as thoroughly as he was for her.

“Macy,” he whispered, coming closer, standing by her side of the bed, almost near enough to touch. A dark, heady supplication filled his blue gaze as he asked, raising his voice but only to a husky degree, “Did you call me because you need me?” He licked his lips as shock registered on her face and she twisted her hands together in a frenzy of shy distress.

“It’s okay,” Harry soothed, sitting on the bed and taking her hands, rubbing his thumbs in a firm massage over her skin as she gave a fragile sigh. 

“No, it’s not okay, Harry, it’s--I mean, it’s--” she struggled to find words to fit the enormous, ridiculous mess they had made of what was once the closest, warmest friendship. The two of them had strayed out of bounds only to find their relationship fraught with hurt and distrust. 

“Macy, if there’s something I can do to make it all better, to help you, to make you happy, then it’s only right you should tell me. There’s nothing that would make _me_ happier than to give you what you need.” 

She shuddered, gave a vulnerable nod as he reached out to cup her cheek, his thumb now tracing the lush shape of her lips. 

“Macy,” Harry sighed, feeling his whole reason for being infused into the words, “Do you need me?”

She knew she ought to say no, because he had treated the delicate beginnings of their love with such carelessness, without even being honest that he was interested in Abby. She knew she ought to say no, because he would only hurt her again once he had whatever fleeting pleasure he was seeking from this impromptu tryst. 

But on a deeper level, she somehow knew he was still _her_ Harry, sweet, attentive, caring, divinely handsome and sensuous, the man she loved. That he hadn’t been anyone else’s, despite what she’d seen and assumed. Her achingly vulnerable heart told her this was the truth, no matter what logical objections her mind could conceive. And she couldn’t turn away from him when she craved his touch like the most wretchedly addictive drug.

“Yes,” she whispered, letting the sheet drop away as his hungry eyes took in her skimpy, lacy attire. 

He climbed over her, but seemed unprepared when she placed her hands tentatively, gently on his bare chest, smoothing over his warm skin until he gasped as if she had grazed an especially tender wound.

“Harry, what is is?” she asked softly, carefully roving her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, making him shiver almost convulsively and swallow hard. 

“Please don’t stop,” he muttered through teeth almost gritted. “You feel so good, Macy, please touch me. It’s just that it’s been so long since anyone…” 

She caressed his face and he relaxed a little, untensing his jaw and releasing a heated sigh. He hovered over her on hands and knees, a dominating posture, but he was equally in her power, and she felt the truth of that for the first time. And now he was telling her no one had touched his bare skin in a romantic context for long enough that he was quaking and shell-shocked by the merest hint of the type of attention she planned to show him? How was that possible? She assumed he had started an affair with Abigael after that kiss...

“No one’s touched you like this? In that long?” Macy questioned, completely baffled. “But I thought...I mean, I thought you and Abby…”

“No, Macy, no,” he insisted, kissing her hand when it brushed across his lips. “I kissed her once and it was stupid, useless, only made me miss you more. I…” he groaned, crawling down slightly so he could bury his face in her stomach as her hands came up to nestle in his soft brown hair. 

“I love you, Macy,” he confessed, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses all over her stomach, kisses that burned through the thin silk of her nightie. His voice was thick with the remnants of complete despair. “So much. And you’ve seemed so distant from me, untouchable, ever since you met _him_.” His fists tightened in the silk, tugging in the twist of his miserable recollection. “My darklighter.”

“Harry, come here,” she begged, and he sat beside her, nuzzled his face into her shoulder and placed an almost apologetic kiss there, regretful of the overly dramatic way he ranted of his emotions. 

Didn’t he know he could confide in her to his heart’s content and she would patiently, devotedly hear him out and help however she could? Hadn’t he done the same for her on countless occasions? She wondered if he hadn’t realized how much all of those heart-to-hearts had meant to her, when she feared her demon side and he pulled her back to hope again, made her believe in herself no matter what. She wondered if he really didn’t know how much she believed in him as well, and then all she wanted was to show him.

With his free hand, he allowed himself the unheard-of luxury of running adoring fingers through her hair, palming and petting at her sumptuous, soft curls, losing himself in the scents of honeysuckle, fresh soap and desire emanating from her skin. He was caught in some kind of shocked trance, the aftereffect of finally admitting his feelings combined with the overwhelming sensation of her touch, the way she held him close and kissed his forehead, the way she wanted him in return after all these months of him assuming his love was nothing more than an inconvenient strain on their friendship and witch-whitelighter bond, one she bore with polite, platonic affection.

“I don’t want him,” she said emphatically, speaking of his darklighter. “I just liked the feeling of being close to him because it was as close as I could get...to this.”

Harry lifted his head to look wonderingly into her bright, tear-glazed eyes. “You mean, you…”

“I love you,” she nearly sang, feeling the weight of so much sorrow lifting from her heart. “_You_, Harry Greenwood. That’s why I need you, that’s why…” she bit her lip, bashful again, but his doting expression made it easy to admit the rest. “That’s why I called out your name when I was touching myself. That’s why you’re the one I always think of when I’m lonely and I’m in the mood, well…”

Her admission was on the verge of devolving into a stream of awkward Macy-babble, but his lips were on hers before she got the chance. The kiss was hot, firm, possessive, and he licked into her mouth with a lusty fervor that sent tremors of pleasure and excitement running through her, gathering with tight insistence between her thighs. 

Harry pulled her into his lap, moaning into her mouth because the kisses were overstimulating but he couldn’t possibly stop or have his fill of her. He yanked demandingly at her nightgown before plucking it up over her head and tossing it to the floor, and then she was naked in his lap, grinding against his hard-on as he kissed her until her lips were almost sore. All the while, he squeezed her desire-swollen breasts and teased her taut nipples, and then he kissed feverishly across her face before nosing into her neck, biting her hard and fast.

“Harry!” she moaned, her eyes rolling up as he sucked with shameless vigor, sending more erotic shockwaves through her body. He laid feathery, teasing kisses along her shoulder before biting there as well, reaching down her back to smooth a hand over her ass and squeeze one supple cheek. 

Macy was delirious, yet she longed to show him just as much passion in return, wanted to make him cry out for her as she had for him, wanted to claim his every helpless moan and awaken his sharpest ecstasies. She kissed and nipped at his neck as he trembled, letting out small, overwhelmed gasps and sighs of her name, and then she slid her greedy mouth down his beautiful chest, pausing in her explorations to tweak and lick his nipples until his hips bucked beneath her, her name a frantic refrain on his lips.

She loved his stomach, warm and slender with just a bit of softness hinting at his love of baking and traditional English comfort food. He smelled of spicy cologne and chamomile tea, plus a light sheen of perspiration she invoked with her kisses, the glide of her lovely face down his needy skin, the alternations between petal-soft press of lips, wicked bites and indulgent sucking. Macy was dizzy with the feel of him, the taste, the scent...everything about this was completely surreal, as if she was starring in one of her own most decadent fantasies.

“You’re so perfect,” she hummed, kissing, licking and biting her way down his skin with delicately savoring contentment, loving the breathless way he responded, both to her words and her touch. She willed herself not to wake up to find this a dream, but it just kept on going, and there were too many intricate nuances for it to be mere fancy, even with her considerable imagination.

Rubbing her face against the urgently straining bulge in his pants, she looked up at him with a devilish look as the implications made him moan, one hand sunk in her hair and the other clutching at his own. “Macy,” he rasped as she licked a line straight up his cock through the soft fabric, “Please.”

“God,” she gasped, slipping down his pants as he lifted slightly to accommodate her. His throbbing, engorged cock sprang free, so incredibly responsive when she gently stroked him. 

She passed her thumb slowly and deliberately over the tip, watching a pearly drop of precum gather there, then leaning in to lick him, swirling her tongue around the head before sucking him down once, then stroking his length in fascinated delight. He was beautiful beyond belief, sweet, salty and hot on her tongue. Harry’s whole body jolted slightly and he bit his lip, gripping her shoulder now.

“M-Macy, it won’t take much more of that before I--”

“Relax, baby,” she urged softly, the pet name coming naturally and helping to ease his tension. She caressed his hips and thighs, slowly jerking him and savoring him in the tight, wet cling of her mouth as their sultry eye contact sent new shivers through her. 

She pulled off carefully, releasing a moist popping sound and relishing the feel of her swollen mouth, the new ache in her jaw and at the back of her throat, the taste of him lingering like a promise. 

“I’ll make it all better for you, too,” she smiled, trying her best to take her time with him, although it was a challenge to contain herself. “Will you…” She was bashful again all of a sudden and her cheeks felt like they were on fire, but curiosity won out. “Will you show me how you touched yourself, thinking about me?”

He nodded shakily, reached down to wrap a hand around himself as she drew back slightly. “Like this,” he demonstrated, squeezing his rigid shaft with a shudder, then stroking the impressive length and running his thumb over the head, more precum slathering forth, mixing with Macy’s saliva to make the glide easy and sweet.

She was so completely undone by the sight of him touching himself that she realized she hadn’t known what she was getting herself into, but before she knew it she had brushed his hand away and climbed astride him, positioning her slick, pulsating pussy above his bulging erection. Harry gripped her hip with harsh fervor, digging his thumb in as with his free hand, he guided his cock inside her, sliding smoothly into her dripping heat as they clung together, crying out in amazement at the sensation. She was tight, but so wet that it was effortless, and they moved together with a harmonious, insistent power that could only have been choreographed by their soul’s most fundamental craving.

When she took him to the hilt with a long, fluid sink of her curvy body, the last shred of restraint seemed to break in Harry, and he thrust up into her with new urgency, his hips snapping possessively against her ass, his hands groping the soft cheeks, spreading and spanking them as she keened ecstatically. “Yes!” she cried, and he grinned, carefully easing her off of him so that he could turn her over, moving now with confident and deliberate strength, positioning her on hands and knees although her legs were shaking so much it was difficult to stay upright.

She slipped down the mattress when he entered her again with a ragged sigh, grabbing her ass and spanking as he took her hard and fast. She whimpered, unravelling in the sharp pleasure of his roughness, clawing at the sheets in a futile attempt to gain control of herself, but his next thrust sent her over the edge. Her orgasm was fierce, marrow-deep, and from somewhere far away she heard herself nearly screaming his name like a cry for help, but she already knew he would guide her through this euphoria. Unlike the lonely, melancholy ache she expected to feel tonight, he was here, witnessing and evoking every one of her rapturous cries, loving her until there was no room for embarrassment or fear anymore. 

Her pussy squeezed him when she came, the clutch of her silken walls making Harry groan profoundly as he found his own release, slamming and spasming against her, his breath ragged as he hovered over her neck, one hand cupping her breast, the other splayed over her belly. His fingers were so hot and clingy, she couldn’t possibly get enough, and when he withdrew from her with a small moan of deprivation, she pulled him against her in a tight hug, lifting his hand to her lips and kissing it over and over.

Then a strange thing happened; the sex had left them exhausted but they couldn’t stop touching, kissing, or exploring each other, as if the culmination of their union had left them even greedier, saturated but nearly unsatable. As if they thought that any moment now, they could lose each other all over again, but they refused to let it happen.

“We should calm down,” she suggested, but it sounded a bit disingenuous considering the way she had to say it around three of his fingers while she slurped them into her mouth and fellated them vigorously enough to make his eyes roll up. 

“God! Fuck, yes, yes...I’ll calm down,” he muttered, his lips trailing luxuriantly down her elegant neck, then finding her breasts as he sighed, “But I haven’t kissed you here yet…”

“_Harry_,” Macy whispered, her hips bucking automatically as he licked and sucked at her breasts, easily piquing her hardened nipples to an even more rigid alertness, ripples of delight coursing through her every nerve ending and pore. She ran her hand through his hair, then nipped the pad of his finger as she added tightly, “Swear again.”

“Hmm,” he smiled against the luscious curve of her breast, “I fucking love you, Macy Vaughn.”

“Oh, my God,” she moaned. He was _not_ supposed to curse; he was supposed to be all proper and old-fashioned and English, and it was unexpectedly so hot to hear his naughty tongue flex to his sophisticated palate to say _”fuck”_. 

Harry smiled, lifting up and taking his hand from her mouth to place it suggestively on her neck, his thumb sweeping over her delicate throat before he gave a light squeeze. “I want to fuck you all night long, my love,” he said with a deceptive innocence that served its intended purpose of driving her utterly insane with need for him to do just that.

She wrapped her long arms and legs around him, drawing him close as he fingered her damp sex, letting out rapturous sighs of approval at every lovely variation of her body. Riding him had been exquisite, feeling him lose control fucking her from behind had been equally so, but this was special in its own way: the hot weight of his body leveraged to her soft curves, the flare of something unruly and uncontrollable in his eyes, the act of staring unflinchingly at each others’ faces in the throes of steamy love-making binding them more inextricably than ever.

“Mmm,” she smiled as they curled up together afterwards. 

She felt like the most well taken-care-of, spoiled and pleased little spoon ever, and he snuggled into her perfectly, kissing her neck and shoulders with continued, if now very sleepy, bliss, as if he hadn’t already kissed her everywhere about a million times. That was perfect, too, even if the path they had stumbled down to get into each others’ arms had been anything but. It had been so perilously composed of misunderstandings, insecurities, hurt feelings and resentment that the two of them being here now had once seemed absolutely impossible. She silently vowed to herself that she would always be honest with him about her feelings from now on, never to worry about the consequences of that openness again.

“I’ll always come to you when you need me, Macy,” he yawned, nestling their feet together. 

“I won’t need to call your name so loudly anymore, will I?” she asked, pulling his hand between her breasts and holding him there, the protector of her heart.

“Well, if it’s alright with you, I’ll already be in your bed,” he answered, and she could hear the smirk in his voice while approving it thoroughly. “But I can still make you call my name just as loudly.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this started as an almost crack-level silly idea and evolved into yet more tender, vulnerable fluffiness, but I blame Hacy for everything. As a matter of fact, I should probably get that printed on t-shirts. Also, the whole thing of Macy being turned on by Harry swearing is clearly a fave headcanon of mine -- insert "It is Law" gif here ;D
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
